Tony Tests His Strength: Car-Trash #1
|The contents of this story, all its characters, locations, names and performances mentioned and described in this story are 100% fictional creations by the original author only. No aspect of the story represents any trues and/or actual facts. Any resemblance of actual characters, locations, names and/or performances is accidental and unintended.
|As spring moved on during his senior year, Tony’s size and strength
continued to increase, as did his need to assert his physical
dominance and his level of cockiness, and with it his inability to
accept even the mildest of reprimands. One teacher in particular
learned where Tony drew his line in the sand and at the same time, the
magnitude of his reaction whenever someone was foolish enough to step
One ‘given’ about Tony was that he only came to class when he wanted to, and as often as not it was in the middle of class when he DID show up. The teachers had learned that Tony was to be given a certain degree of latitude in all areas of behavior, but some teachers had their limits. Outdoorsman Zack Peters, who had never been one to allow himself to be pushed around, was one of those. Though Tony hadn’t planned it this way, he had come into Mr. Peters’ class late – very late, every day one week. On the fifth day, Friday, Mr. Peters had had all the disrespect he could take. “Mr. Mills! That’ll be one hour detention – today!”
Of course, Tony didn’t do detention – ever. What he did in this case was to spend the last class period in the gym pumping out the reps in an effort to expunge some of the anger that still rankled inside over being “unfairly picked on for punishment,” – as he saw it, during class. He didn’t want to do anything he’d regret when he met his teacher after school. He was still working hard when the bell rank, at which point he went to the back door of the school to wait for him. Tony had worked out wearing a tight, cut-off tee that barely came down to his sternum and a pair of rather skimpy spandex, bikini work-out shorts that covered yet dramatically emphasized his pumped, over-sized package, and saw no reason to change before going outdoors, so when Mr. Peters stepped outside he was immediately faced with a glistening mass of hard, sweaty, bulging, teen bodybuilder muscle leaning lazily back , held upright by his muscular butt that rested firmly on the top rail of a decorative split rail fence along the sidewalk, head tilted downward as he looked up towards the startled teacher with a dark scowl on his face. Saying nothing, he followed the average-sized outdoorsman to the parking lot and then walked with him to his car – a shiny new 4 X 4 SUV. Keys in hand, getting ready to unlock the car, the teacher finally spoke, and tried to dismiss Tony with, “Whatever it is, Mr. Mills, it’ll have to wait until tomorrow.” Up until now, Mr. Peters wasn’t concerned about Tony’s presence. In spite of the teen’s obvious great strength, he didn’t expect any trouble, -- only a plea to drop the detention. He got a bit more.
“Nice car…. wonder how heavy it is…?” Tony squatted down facing the front of the car, grabbed the bumper with both hands and held that position for a few seconds before standing straight up as if doing a deadlift, holding the front end completely off the ground. After a few seconds more he flexed his biceps and did a half curl, stopping with his forearms horizontal, straight out to the front. When Tony first grabbed onto the bumper, Mr. Peters opened his mouth to object to whatever Tony was about to do, but his mind – and his eyes – were fully occupied being amazed by the hardness and fullness of the several slabs of muscle that comprised each of the muscle-teen’s butt cheeks – muscles that rippled and bulged as Tony tensed his muscles in preparation for lifting the car. Zack finally found his voice: “See here – what do you think you’re …..?” –just before Tony stood up.
His mouth fell open once again -- his complaint cut short -- this time in wonder over the number of muscles he could see in Tony’s ass, and how they bunched and rippled as he stood; and then he curled the front end of the car, and the teacher’s eyes were drawn upwards, first tracing out the widely flaring lats and then finding out, first hand, just how many muscles there were in the upper back, a picture that was soon framed with two large, thick horseshoes – one on either arm as Tony flexed his arms while holding the car steadily at waist level.
Before the teacher can gather his wits about him, Tony heaved the front end up a few feet—about to face level, and catches the bumper with the upward-facing palms of his hands as it drops back. After lowering the bumper down to the top of his pecs, he stoops down a bit and then straightens up and presses the car upward fairly hard. “Whoa!” he yells, as the front end flies up well over his head, but he catches in on the way down and holds it there, with his arms straight up. “What a piece of shit! What’s this thing made of – plastic or something?” Shaking his head in mock disgust he lets go, allowing it to crash about seven feet to the ground, cracking the exhaust manifold, snapping the bolts holding the shock absorbers in place, misaligning both wheels and blowing out one tire in the process. Mr. Peters starts yelling and cursing, to no avail. “Maybe just one hand is all I need….” This time he doesn’t even bother to squat down; he simply bends over to the side, hooks only the fingers of one hand casually under the front end – then turns to face the very worried teacher, gives him an exaggerated smile, and without even looking back toward the SUV straightens up as he effortlessly curls the vehicle clear up to shoulder level and forces an even bigger smile. Then he turns serious and looks at his huge, granite-like arm and flexes – several time, watching silently at first as it seems to get bigger, tighter, and more deeply striated with every move, until he (quite understandably) admires himself. “Awww fuck, yeah…, Look at me , man…. So fuckin’ huge.., so fuckin’ strong… Getting’ bigger, ‘n stronger…,” as the car bobs up and down each time Tony flexes his arm, seemingly oblivious to the mass being moved. Next he flipped his hand around and did a casual one-armed shoulder press to get the front end once again well over head. “Awww, yeah. So fuckin’ strong, man.” He pumps it up and down a few times as he gazes at his bulging upper arm. “Aww yeah – huge fuckin’ muscle, man. So freakin’ strong. Fuck, yeah!”
The teacher was dumbstruck by the kid’s strength. And being a man, he couldn’t help but be both awed by and jealous of the display of raw power and virility in front of him. He can’t think of anything to say – or to do. But his dick knew what to do; it was saluting Tony’s unbelievable superiority as he casually stood there doing one-armed shoulder presses. Tony noticed it, saying, “Guess you like lookin’ at all this muscle – that right, Teach, heh, heh, heh,” nodding towards Mr. P’s crotch? Mr. P. was much too embarrassed to reply; he just kept staring as Tony continued to press the heavy vehicle up and down. “Aww, yeah…, beginning to get a good pump going here… getting fuckin’ bigger…, stronger, every day. Aww, fuck, yeah-h-h-h…” Still no further sounds from the very worried car owner.
“Ya know,” said Tony, “ I hear these things have a big problem with flipping over on you,” and as he’s saying that, he lowers the front end to his shoulder and crouches down a bit, looking for all the world like he’s ready to execute a shot put, his triceps ballooning to skin-splitting size. “No-o-o-o - Please!” yelled the teacher, recovering slightly. But at the very same moment….
“Un-n-h-h-h!” shouted Tony as he powered his arm straight overhead. He thrust so hard that as the front end shot upward and began flipping over backwards, the rear end of the vehicle came completely off the ground, rotating forward. When the car finally hit the ground, it came down flat on the top, caving in the entire passenger compartment, shattering every window. Mr. Peters could only stare -- defeated, disbelieving and slack-jawed.
After taking a few seconds to enjoy his small act of devastation, Tony walked over to the still-in-shock teacher, glared intensely down into his bewildered face and quietly said, “No one reprimands me!” and walked away. He never did it again, and for the most part, neither did anyone else.
The school downplayed the incident, claiming vandalism – perpetrators unknown. Feeling like Mr. Peters had, in effect, taken the fall for the rest of them, the faculty even chipped in to help with the repairs. They feared troubles of their own if they tried to take action against the seemingly beyond-control muscle kid and wanted only one thing – to be rid of Tony forever, and graduation was only a month away. However, people talk, and shortly after summer vacation had begun, Mr. Mills – Tony’s foster father, chanced to hear over lunch one day, by random word-of-mouth, what had really happened. He grew furious at the thought of his own good reputation being smeared by his son’s actions, so when he returned home that night, he went straight to Tony’s room to express his anger and figure out how to set things straight. He had no idea how completely the tables were about to turn.
The Twins’ Father
Tony had been afraid that the summer would be slow – sexually speaking. He knew he would be fucking his brothers before they left for work in the morning, again when they got home, and probably once before bedtime – but what of the rest of the day? Yes, there was weight lifting – his Dad had purchased a mass of equipment for Tony, but that still left lots of time for ….? Fortunately, he’d already established a reputation of sorts, and the flow of desirable – and desiring – young women didn’t slow down as he’d expected, so he kept busy. He was very busy when a very angry Frank Mills got home on that fateful Friday evening, entertaining no young ladies, but rather Jake and John in his very private, by–invitation-only bedroom.
Frank heard odd noises coming from Tony’s room, half-noticing that they were all men’s voices, though in his mental state it didn’t occur to him what they signified until he threw open the door and barged right in. When he did, John was sitting naked at the head of the bed watching Tony pound Jake, who was lying face down at the end of the bed while kneeling on the floor. Having arrived in an already pissed-off state and caught completely by surprise, Frank lunged reactively at Tony, trying to pull him off, but Tony was just about to climax, and nothing was going to stop him. He screamed at John to help, but John, who had just been pummeled by the same cock that was pleasuring his brother to distraction, wasn’t about to interfere. Getting no response, Frank ran out into the barn and came back with a ‘two by four’ and a crowbar. He first tried the piece of wood across the shoulders and then even to the back of the head, with little or no visible effect, except perhaps that Tony was pumping faster and grunting louder. So, for that matter, was Jake. In desperation, he tried the crowbar across Tony’s meaty traps, softly at first, but the tempo of the fucking only increased. In growing panic, Mr. Mills hoisted the crowbar once more and executed one hefty blow to the traps, which went pretty much unnoticed by Tony since he had just gotten himself fully tensed up in preparation for the start of his orgasm.
At that moment, Tony’s back was noticeably harder than the iron in that ole crowbar; consequently, the shock of hitting such an un-giving body – Tony’s back – jerked the crowbar from the hands of the now distraught father, who could only watch in dismay as his son yelled (“God, that must hurt,” he thought – though it didn’t really sound like a scream of someone in pain…) and grunted even louder than Tony at each thrust, and as cum shot out from his son’s ass after several of Tony’s powerful releases.
Outwardly, no one could tell that any of Dad’s efforts were registering on Tony, but they were. With the first physical contact, Tony decided that tonight would be “Fuck Daddy” night, so he decided that he needed to cut off his orgasm prematurely, which pissed him off to no end, in order to give Dad a lesson -- A.S.A.P. As soon as the flow stopped, Tony pulled out and turned towards Frank, his thick, shiny, rigid eleven-inch’er pointing angrily and needfully toward the ceiling. And it wasn’t just his cock that was shiny and pumped – everything was! Sweat covered his whole body, and every muscle seemed to have expanded beyond normal size from all the flexing Tony had done during the dual fucks he had just completed – no to mention the home-gym workout before hand. Frank couldn’t believe his eyes – he saw Tony every day, but still, this close up, pumped and sweaty as he was, Frank was completely awed by Tony’s size – awe that quickly turned to fright at the look of anger and…, something else, in Tony’s eyes.
“You forgot to knock.” Tony had lots of rules. Frank thought that as the father, he didn’t need to respect them. With no warning, Tony threw his adopted father onto the bed, forcibly yanked off his pants, flipped him on his stomach, and with no preparation, jammed his very slick, pumped, oversized cock fully into the violently thrashing, screaming father. Holding the pain-ridden man firmly in place, Tony waited until the twins’ father quieted down and stopped fighting against him, and then began working, and soon pounding his newest fuck-toy. Having held back on the last fuck, Tony’s cock was still very hard and ready to shoot, but Tony was not. For about fifteen relentless minutes, he kept it up. All protestation, all screams, grunts or other sounds ceased after the first five minutes; after ten minutes, Dad was close to losing consciousness, though Tony barely noticed, and for the last five minutes, Frank’s body merely flopped around according to Tony’s whims until his massive orgasm brought the “lesson” to an end.
The twins carried their unconscious and bloody father to the car, and then to the emergency room. After a week’s recovery, Tony now had three obedient fuck-buddies at home to serve his needs, and he quickly worked his Dad into his daily routine.
Knives & Guns
Tony was on a roll – constantly striking out in new directions, making good use of his ever-increasing strength, making new friends almost daily, refining his ability to control any situation of interest to him. He had, however, an urge he could not control to test his limits even further. He seemed invulnerable to physical harm to some extent, but he didn’t know how far he could push it. . He knew he could bend metal to his will, but did that mean that metal couldn’t hurt him? What about knives, or even bullets? His intuition told him he’d be tough to kill, but exactly how tough? What kind of weapon would it take to hurt him, he wondered? It was time to subject his body to a definitive test, so one night, Jake & John drove him into the city, to the “other side of the tracks,” let him out where he told them, and waited.
Several blocks away, the half-drunk, late-night night-clubbers, pimps, and run-of-the mill ruffians were treated to the sight of a massive, young, near-naked teenager, a full six feet of hugely muscled, hard-as-nails, bodybuilding perfection strolling lazily through the crowd wearing nothing but a searching, piercing expression and a pair of purposely small bikini briefs that covered maybe half of his overly ample male endowment and very little else. Almost more captivating then this God-like body, to most non-gay onlookers, was the large amount of US currency sticking out of his briefs – some in the waistband, some held in his ass-crack by the string-like piece of thong that was forced deep down between his rippling muscle-cheeks by the extremely large bulge in front, but most deeply-set in his crotch, stuffed between the thong and two large, firm, virile spheres of manhood. “Must be the headliner for Ladies Night Out over at Jessie’s Bar & Grill was what most gawkers assumed.
After displaying himself up and down this nocturnal ‘Main Street’ for a while, Tony took to the side streets. He was immediately followed, of course, but just ambled along, seemingly naïve and unaware of what was going on around him, listening happily to the arguments in progress behind him over which group was getting the rights to slice Tony up and get the dough. “Good,” thought Tony, “I get to test myself again the best.”
The inevitable confrontation took place in a suitably dark alleyway: three large men with Bowie knives, one with a pistol for insurance. They surrounded Tony with confidence, but to their surprise and amusement, their demands to drop his money on the ground and get out “…if you want to get home in one piece…” were countered by an unmoving mountain of bulging, steel-like, corded muscle, feet firmly planted and arms across his chest saying, “Come and get it,” capped by an arrogant but inviting smile to do just that.
They couldn’t believe it – that was a response they hadn’t planned for. After a bit of quick discussion, the biggest guy jeered, with somewhat less assurance, “Come on, Mr. – you don’t wanna get blood on them pretty panties, now do ya?”
At first Tony didn’t budge, but after several seconds he suck out his index finger and curled it toward him in what the men thought – well, hoped, at least -- was a bluff, a signal inviting the men to tangle with the huge Muscle Teen.
“Well, Hell, men.., we’ve got these big fuckin’ knives – he ain’t got nuthin’. Let’s get ‘im!” Two instantly lunged for the gut. Tony crunched his abs to the max, and steel knives met harder-than steel muscle – and did nothing! The luckier attacker had his hand jolted harmlessly off of the handle by the unexpected shock of the impact. The hand of the second attacker slipped over the hilt and slid straight along the razor-sharp blade, badly cutting a couple fingers before he even knew what happened. He screamed from the shock, and the pain, though not for long because as soon as the knives struck, so did Tony. He grabbed each man by the neck and lifted them well off the ground. As they made eye contact with Tony he said, “G’Night, fellas,” as he cracked their heads together, knocking them unconscious before dropping them at his feet.
“Holy, shit!” It was the third would-be thief, who had awaken just in time to see his pals so easily disposed of. He hadn’t moved as yet when Tony turned towards him. He dropped the knife and started to run, but remembered the gun--small caliber, but usually effective at close range, turned back and pointed it at Tony, although shakily.
“Drop that cash now, or you’re a dead man.” Tony took a step or two forward and then stopped, staring the man down. “I mean NOW!” he repeated, while holding the gun with two hands, aimed at Tony’s head, trying to convince himself that he had no reason to be afraid of this guy.
Dead silence. “…guess it’s time to find out,” thought Tony. Out loud he asked, “How fast can you run, asshole?”
“Stupid, Son of a Bitch!” said the third man as he points the gun at Tony’s heart and fires - once, twice, and finally all six bullets. Tony had flexed his chest in preparation – needlessly, as it happens, but he didn’t know that. The bullets just…, more or less stopped…, and bounced back a little and fell to the ground. All six of them. The punk froze in place, gun still pointing uselessly straight at his intended victim.
Tony was elated beyond measure. He picked up one flattened bullet, tossed it to the attacker saying, “I believe this is yours.” The suddenly quite terrified man turned to run, but it was much too late. Tony grabbed him with one arm and pulled him up against his body, and his now very rigid, very aroused cock, which he mashed instructively against the guy’s butt. “Time for some manly fun, don’t you think?” Within seconds the disoriented man was stripped and positioned for entry. With one little thrust, Tony’s self-lubricating cock was where it always wanted to be, unmoved and unconcerned, as was Tony, by the punk’s protesting screams that were heard two or three blocks away. Having no desire to prolong this event, Tony brought himself to orgasm very quickly, and the man was still emitting sounds of pain when the last full-power cum-shot rocketed into the man’s ass – at the same moment that he lost consciousness due to the intensity of Tony’s fucking. He placed the man’s body next to the others, threw a few bills down on them and walked back to the twins.
Practically jumping into the truck, pumped with adrenaline after so easily overwhelming the well-armed punks, he shouts, “Wooo-eeeee! Are WE gonna have ourselves a go-o-o-o-o-d time tonight, heh, heh, heh!” --slapping both brothers on the back. They had no doubt what was in store for them.
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